


Grateful you Stay

by IndigoSynopsis



Series: Beedleverse: Love Carries us Through [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Anxiety, Mild Angst, implied/referenced PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoSynopsis/pseuds/IndigoSynopsis
Summary: Saturday was a time for joy, be it lazing about on the porch with a cold drink, flying a broomstick with friends, or hiding under the covers with your girlfriend. Saturday was not for laying alone in bed, staring at the ceiling as your vision faded in and out of focus.A drabble  in which we glimpse Harry and Hermione's internal battles and their love for each other.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Series: Beedleverse: Love Carries us Through [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984214
Comments: 11
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PetrificusSomewhatus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrificusSomewhatus/gifts).



> Thank you to PetrificusSomewhatus for making me write a second part from Hermione's perspective <3

Saturday was a time for joy, be it lazing about on the porch with a cold drink, flying a broomstick with friends, or hiding under the covers with your girlfriend. Saturday was not for laying alone in bed, staring at the ceiling as your vision faded in and out of focus. 

Unfortunately for one Harry Potter, he was doing just that. He’d woken up and Hermione was already gone. Where was it? Harry couldn’t quite remember. Something about meeting friends for brunch in Muggle London, or visiting a book shop? It was probably both. Or neither. He didn’t know. He made to get up, reaching to slide Ceridwen the kneazle off his chest, only to find there was no kneazle. His chest felt heavy on its own, and was growing heavier the longer he was awake. 

It was at this point Harry felt the heaviness in his chest creeping down his arms. His fingertips felt light, impossibly so, and with a cursory glance Harry noticed they were shaking. He managed to fling his body sideways to grab his glasses, but then he just...stopped. He thought about getting up and out of bed, but ultimately fell down sideways and tugged the covers up around him. His dream was coming back.

He’d been back in the forest, except this time no one had come to save him from the icy waters and help destroy the Horcrux. He swam for what felt like miles, heaving himself onto dry land only to find Hermione, packed, telling him he’d failed. She’d made a mistake staying with him. Only, then they’d been transported to Grimmauld place and Hermione was walking out the door. Harry had been unable to say anything. 

“Okay,” he said to himself in the present. His chest was hurting badly now and his voice was barely above a whisper. “What did Healer Marienne say? Five things: Sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch.” Harry saw the soft cream of his sheets, speckled with bits of lint if he glanced closer. He could taste his sour morning breath. He could touch...Hermione? No, she wasn’t there. She was out. Where was she again? He could hear...his heartbeat. It was pounding.That wasn’t right. 

_It was your fault, you know, that Ron felt he had to leave._ The thought assaulted him out of nowhere. Something colder than Devil's Snare grabbed his heart and squeezed. 

_You know it’s true._ Harry covered his ears as if he could block out his own thoughts. _He left you in the tent because you couldn’t hide your feelings. You put him in danger your whole life and couldn’t let him have the one thing he wanted. And now look? Hermione is stuck with you when she could have loved someone with half as many issues._

There was something Healer Marienne had said about fighting intrusive thoughts. It worked especially well when two people were in tune with the other’s magic. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember how to do that. Even worse, if he managed to reach Hermione, she would know _it_ happened again. All his months trying to be better for her had been in vain. 

_Why does she even love you? You can’t do better by her. You never have. Try harder._ Harry felt his eyes brim with tears and used the sheets to wipe them away. He had absolutely no right. He wouldn’t let them out. 

_Hermione has every right to leave. You don’t deserve her._ Harry squeezed his eyes shut, breaths coming out short and ragged and probably like repressed sobs. He didn’t know. He could hear nothing but ringing and the low bass beat of his heart. He could feel nothing but cold and pain and guilt. He could smell nothing but his sweat. 

Then, slowly, he began to sense something else. He felt the tickle of hair on his cheek, then soft lips pressed against his skin as an arm snaked around his waist. A body was pressed up behind him, pulling him closer until he opened his eyes. He could see, now, that a petite hand was drawing slow circles on his stomach. He thought he heard the words “I’m here” whispered against his neck. He smelled a mild rosy perfume and new book pages mixed into one. It was his favorite smell, aside from mildly burnt treacle tart, ink on parchment...freshly mowed grass…

“I’m here, Harry,” Hermione said. He heard her clearly this time, registering the tickle of her breath on his skin. She was holding him tight, but despite this, he felt his chest open up and his breathing begin to ease.   
  


“I was all excited about my solo book tour today,” she said, her tone surprisingly matter-of-fact, “But I got to the second shop and all I could think was how much I’d rather have a lazy day with you.” At this, Harry tried and failed to stop tears leaking from his eyes. Try as he might to hide it, Harry’s emotions did their own thing whenever Hermione was around, like his body was refusing to hide anything from her. Hermione noticed almost immediately, and moved them both so he was on his back and she looked down at him.  
  


“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry. Shh...it’s alright.” She dabbed at his tears with her sleeves, then kissed the salty trails left on his cheeks. 

“Thank you, Hermione,” Harry said.

“Whatever for?” 

“For staying with me, even though…” he gestured to himself, the dry, cold sweat on his arms and naked torso, the eyes he knew must be puffy and red, and the messy hair stuck to his forehead. 

“I’ve known you since we were eleven, Harry. I knew what I was getting into, just like you knew you were going to be the partner of a...what was it? A know-it-all?” Harry smiled and Hermione rewarded him by leaning down and planting a kiss on his lips. He tasted…

“Coffee?” Harry broke the kiss and sat up. He still felt a little shaky, but now he had no desire to stay in bed. He wanted to get up, listen to Hermione ramble about whatever books she bought, and do whatever she wanted as long as he could be there, by her side. 

“Of course, Harry,” she said, “But let’s take a shower first.”

  
  
“Let’s? Both of us?”

  
  
“Yes.” Hermione got up and grabbed both Harry’s hands, pulling him to his feet and wrapping her arms around him.

“I don’t fancy leaving you alone just yet,” she said against his chest. Harry nodded and walked off toward the bathroom, taking her hand in his and savoring the way it felt. Deserve her? Maybe not. But was he happy she was there? Every damn day. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

One was supposed to stay focused when out on a self-date. Or, rather, one was supposed to stay focused on the _self._ Hermione Granger was definitely focused, and definitely not absent-mindedly picking up and replacing books without reading the titles. Healer Ethridge said that she should take time to do exactly what she wanted to do.

Books made Hermione happy. Visiting Muggle London made Hermione happy. So the logical choice was for Hermione to combine the two. She would get coffee and then visit exactly six hole-in-the-wall book shops. She would then read while thinking about what she and Harry would do as soon as she got home. 

_Hang on, this day is for you. You shouldn’t be thinking of him._ That’s what Healer Ethridge meant, right? Thinking of him and going home to him and being in his arms not self care. Well, they hadn’t quite gotten to that part last session, but Hermione was sure that’s what she would say. 

  
_Why do I feel so…?”_ Hermione’s thought didn’t finish, because if she were being honest, she didn’t quite know _how_ she felt. It was certainly strange that her bag felt heavy despite buying the barest amount of books. By the time she finished her absent strolling, the heaviness had spread, coating her body in a lethargy she could have sworn wasn’t there earlier. She'd been so excited this morning! Sure, she'd thrown herself out of bed and forced herself out the door. Sure, she almost stayed in bed until noon. But she was here now, right? Because spending time relaxing with Harry wasn’t self care. Staying inside and doing nothing wasn’t the Hermione way. 

_Co-dependent._ That’s what her parents had said. It had been the last time she confided in them about her favorite way to spend a weekend. But Healer Ethridge said they were just worried, right? That wanting to spend time with someone you loved wasn’t wrong? 

“But you can’t go five seconds without thinking of him, _”_ she said under her breath, _“_ It’s like you don’t have a mind of your own. _”_ Hermione leaned against the shelf, clutching her chest and trying her best to quiet her rapid breathing. _You. Are in. A Book Shop. You. Are Supposed. To Be Happy. Why aren’t you happy?_

Hermione closed her eyes, very aware that a couple was staring worriedly at her from a corner. Pictures and images swam in front of her eyes. When she felt this way, it was best to picture a time and place she actually _was_ happy. Truly happy, relaxed...at peace. First, she tried to remember the time she spent at Hogwarts. These only gave way to image after image of danger and death as each year concluded with an attempt on her or her friends’ lives, like something out of a scripted movie. Then she thought about that time in the tent, when they danced and she felt like she wanted to spend forever swaying to the sound of heartbeats and music. But that, too, was a moment surrounded by peril, fear...loss. She shivered, clutching her hands around her. 

_"Hermione, can you come here a moment?"_ new memory burst through the dark, one where Harry called her to the library and she’d walked in on something that made her heart swell. He’d said it was a pillow fort, though Hermione categorized it as a pillow palace with all the blankets and cushions he’d summoned from God knows where. There were little lights floating around it and a pile of books inside. They hadn’t left until late the next morning. 

This memory was warm, so warm in fact that it seemed to melt the chill around her and bring clarity back. Opening her eyes, she took a long, drawn out breath. She wanted to have it again, the feeling of a blanket fort and books and tea and Harry nearby. She didn’t care if she had to re-read something for the fourth time. She didn’t care if he accidentally brought her the sixth book in a series. The prospect easily beat being out here and blaming herself for wanting to spend a weekend at home, together with him. 

_But what would they think of you?_

“Oh sod it,” she said out loud, making the nearby couple jump, “I’m going home.” 

\----

_Home_ was bittersweet. 

The journey felt much faster than the trip out. This time, instead of the day’s breeze pushing against her, it spurred her along. She removed her sweater and shoes before practically skipping upstairs. Except when she opened the bedroom door, the “Hello, Harry!” she’d been waiting to say all day simply died on her lips. 

The bedsheets were wrecked, pulled into a bunch around his shaking form. She could see his back, glistening with sweat, and his raven hair even messier than usual. It took only a few moments for her to understand that he hadn’t gotten out of bed. 

“Harry?” she said softy. When he didn’t respond, she tried again to no avail. Instead, she padded around the other side of the bed, kneeling in front of him and searching for some kind of recognition in his face. There was none. He was looking at nothing, and she could see his blotchy red face scrunched up in a desperate effort to hold in his tears. A nightmare. She knew them well. 

Hermione climbed into the bed, sliding her legs under the covers and pressing her body up against his back. He smelled like Harry, albeit haven’t showered, drenched in nightmare sweat Harry, but she pulled him closer regardless. She wasn’t sure if he registered her whispering “I’m here” as she wrapped her arm around him. But she felt him soften as her hand began to draw circles on his stomach. This skin there was clammy and patterned with goosebumps, but began to grow warm under her touch.   
  


She’d heard harry mention once that he didn’t deserve her, that he was lucky to have her there to “deal with him.” 

_What you don’t know, sweet Harry, is that our roles are often flipped._ Hermione said this internally as another “I’m here” passed her lips. Harry seemed to fully grasp that she was there this time, breathing slower and leaning in to her. 

“I was all excited about my solo book tour today,” she said, her tone coming out more matter-of-fact than she meant, “But I got to the second shop and all I could think was how much I’d rather have a lazy day with you.” Because out there she was top-of-her-class Hermione, the Girl Hero, the one who could do it all, her parents’ little prodigy. Out there, there was no room to make mistakes and enjoy silly things...but in here, with Harry, there was _always_ room. 

She gently moved them so he was on his back, taking in his bleary eyes and wiping the tears from his cheeks. Despite knowing it was an overflow of emotion, she found herself apologizing for those tears, tasting salt as she kissed the trails they left behind. 

“Thank you, Hermione,” Harry said. 

“Whatever for?” _I’m still so grateful that you are here._

“For staying with me, even though…” he gestured to himself, and she had to laugh because he did look, well, like a person who’d woken up from a terrible nightmare. 

“I’ve known you since we were eleven, Harry. I knew what I was getting into, just like you knew you were going to be the partner of a...what was it? A know-it-all?” Harry smiled at her little joke, light springing back into those big green eyes. This smile, that permission to _be_ a know-it-all was all Hermione needed to kiss him full on the lips. He was a little chapped and tasted like morning breath, but she didn’t stop until he came up for air. 

“Coffee?” he said, sitting up on his shaky arms. 

“Of course, Harry,” she said, though she knew the conversation would be awfully brief. Perhaps a new fort afterward? She did't have anywhere to be. 

“But," she continued, deciding she'd better stop daydreaming, "let’s take a shower first." 

“Let’s? Both of us?” 

“Yes.” Hermione got up and grasped both Harry’s hands, pulling him to his feet and wrapping her arms around him. She nuzzled into his chest and found she didn’t really want to let go. 

“I don’t fancy leaving you alone just yet,” she said. As Harry slipped his hand in hers to lead her to the bathroom, she thought that this was what Healer Ethridge meant from the start. What Hermione wanted most of all was to create warm memories with Harry, sandwiched between happy memories, with the knowledge that he was there yesterday and the promise he would still be tomorrow. Maybe sometimes they’d do so apart, but today, she wanted to be together. 

Because they both deserved that kind of self-care. 


End file.
